


Variations in A Major

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [28]
Category: Dark Angel, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Sherlock (TV), Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Fusion, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Alec McDowell finds himself an ally of wayward transgenics, and other things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written during the January/February 2017 Contest Week at DW's fic_promptly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec and any, are you sure they didn't make anyone who could fly?"

Max was tuning up her motorcycle when Alec plopped down beside her, rested his elbows on his knees.  
  
"Are you sure they didn't make anyone who could fly?"  
  
Max stared at him. "What?"  
  
"C'mon. You and I have cat DNA. Joshua's got canine DNA - " Everyone was so careful not to call Joshua a dog - "so it stands to reason they used other animals, right?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure," Max said. "We hacked a ton of Manticore files, and I got a good look at the place before I left. Manticore was capable of a lot of things, but physiologically speaking, a winged human's just a terribly impractical design. You know how big a human's wings would have to be to carry them?"  
  
"That's assuming they're bird wings," Alec said. "Bat wings fold up much more compactly, so a human could have bigger wings."  
  
Max sighed. "You've been watching old Batman cartoons, haven't you?" Damn Logan. She'd preferred it when Logan and Alec irritated each other.  
  
Alec's smile was sunny and opaque. "Yup." And he was up on his feet, ambling away, flashing his smile at some girls who drifted past. They rolled their eyes at him.  
  
Max shook her head and focused on her bike.  
  
But she awakened, later that night, alerted by - something. Not a sound or a light. A - feeling. She slid out of her bed (one of her beds, the other she shared with Logan) and drew on some clothes, scooped up a weapon, and followed the feeling. The sense.  
  
She heard - voices.  
  
Alec and some other boy, sitting up on the roof. The boy looked a couple of years younger than Alec, still narrow in the shoulders, probably in late adolescence. He had shaggy dark hair and, when he turned, a straight, sharp nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end.  
  
He had dimples when he smiled at something Alec said, and a curious mole on his cheek. Not a Transgenic, then. Transgenics had even the slightest imperfections carved out of their DNA.  
  
Alec had a glass of milk, and the boy had what looked like the rest of a gallon jug. Max frowned. Was he Transgenic after all? A failed experiment, like Joshua? She peered through the darkness, but not even her feline-enhanced vision could help her make out whether he had a barcode on the back of his neck.  
  
"So, have you settled on a name?" Alec asked.  
  
"Yeah," the boy said. "Call me Sammy."  
  
"Why Sammy?"  
  
The boy shrugged. "I like it. Means 'God has heard'. I like to think he's heard about me."  
  
"If God is real, he's gotta have a sense of humor, to let us go running around." Alec drained his glass of milk and then set it aside. "Well, Sammy, always good to see you. Drop by if you ever need anything else."  
  
"Thanks, Alec. See you 'round." And then Sammy rose up - and unfurled a massive pair of bat wings.  
  
Max's voice caught in her throat, but Sammy stepped off the edge of the building and was gone.  
  
Swooped skyward a moment later, and spiraled up into the shadows and clouds.  
  
It was good to know that there were still surprises left in this world.  
  
Max would let Alec keep his little secret - for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec, something other than what Manticore made him."

Alec had been many things - soldier, assassin, spy, distraction by pretty face, distraction by violence. He'd been a prize fighter (thanks, Manticore) and a bike messenger (thanks, Max). He'd been a pianist and a piano teacher and a hundred thousand other things necessary for the cause, for himself.  
  
He couldn't remember if he'd ever been something just for himself. Max had picked his name. He'd become a bike messenger of necessity.  
  
Somehow, though, he'd become the Go-To Guy for rogue Transgenics. It had started with Sammy, the kid with the bat wings, and somehow word had spread that Alec had an open-door policy for whoever, whenever, whatever. So he shouldn't have been surprised when he was out delivering a package and was hauled, bicycle and all, down an alley by a young man.  
  
Tall. Strong. Handsome. That was usually a hint that Manticore was involved.  
  
Supernaturally strong - to be able to pick up Alec and his bike - was a more serious indication that this guy had Manticore paw prints all over his DNA.  
  
And then the man turned his head so Alec could see the barcode on the back of his neck.  
  
"Well, hello," Alec said. "What can I do for you?" It was always best to be polite first and violent second in an unknown situation like this. Contrary to Max's popularly-held belief, Alec was capable of manners instead of sarcasm.  
  
The man set the bike down, and Alec immediately hopped off, made sure the package was secure and that he was on steady footing should Option B (violence) become necessary.  
  
"I need a place to crash. Food. Tryptophan."  
  
"Back at the compound -"  
  
"Nope. Not joining up. Just need a way station before I hit the road."  
  
Alec could understand that. So far, the only person who'd come back to him was Sammy. He had no idea what Sammy did after he went winging off into the night after their midnight talks, but Sammy never seemed worse for the wear when he came back, so Alec asked no questions.  
  
"Sure thing. Let me deliver this package, and you can crash at my place. I'll get some milk and food. What's your name?" Alec kept a calm smile in place (careful not to bare his teeth in case this guy had some predator DNA kicking around in his blood) and waited for the designation.  
  
"Steve," he said.   
  
That was a relief. People who gave themselves human names or were willing to be called by them tended to be more stable than the ones who had animal names or still went by their designations. "Nice to meet you, Steve. I'm Alec. Hop onto my bike and let's go. If anyone asks, you're shadowing me on the job for the day."  
  
And it was simple, to get from sector to sector with Steve perched carefully onto the back of his bike. The sector guards knew Alec, joked with him, and he made his deliveries. Signed off with Normal at the end of his shift, then headed back to the place he still kept outside the compound, for when he needed time to himself, or for people like Steve.  
  
Steve was silent the entire time stone-faced, and frankly scary. Alec had him wait outside so Normal didn't try to talk to him and none of the girls hit on him. While Alec was pretty sure Steve was as human as most of the successful Transgenic blends, he wasn't going to take any chances that Steve wasn't practically feral either. Like some kind of alley cat.  
  
As it turned out, Steve had some kind of fish DNA in him, because when he shucked his dirty clothes, he had a smattering of beautiful blue-green scales across his chest, upper arms, and the small of his back. While he was in the shower, Alec tossed his clothes into the wash, and he set about making dinner. He kept several gallons of milk frozen just in case someone needed a heavy tryptophan dose, and he set one to thawing, because he'd give his current one to Steve.  
  
When Steve came out of the shower, completely unashamed of his nudity, Alec remembered he'd forgot to put towels out, so he gave one to Steve, and then gave Steve some clean clothes. They were about the same height.  
  
"So," Alec asked, "how did you hear about me, anyway?" He'd never figured it out.  
  
Steve shrugged, tore into the bread and cheese and spam Alec had put out for him to make a sandwich. He skipped the sandwich and started in the bread first, devoured it before Alec could tell him about the sandwich option and went for the cheese.  
  
"Word gets around." Steve eyed him. "You ever meet a guy, about yea high, blond, with some heavy feline DNA? We're talking, like, a mountain lion."  
  
Alec had to think for a second.  
  
"I get it," Steve said, "if you have some kind of client confidentiality thing -"  
  
"Not a lawyer," Alec said. "Just - yeah. Kid named - Danny, I think? Said he was trying to catch a boat off of this rock. Hawaii, was his plan."  
  
And finally, Steve's stony expression melted into relief. Fondness. "Good. Danny remembered."  
  
"Why Hawaii?" Alec asked.  
  
Steve smiled, and Alec was damn glad he hadn't let any of the girls near him, because even Original Cindy would have looked twice. "I always wanted to learn how to surf."  
  
Alec was jealous, that Steve had had enough sense of self, behind the bars at Manticore, to have a dream for freedom. Alec still didn't know what he wanted. He'd settle for this, in the meantime, helping guys like Steve and Danny get to their dreams.  
  
He plunked a jug of milk down on the table beside Steve and said, "Here's your Tryptophan. Drink up. And then hey, can you play the guitar? I've always wanted to learn."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec, selling black market lace."

"Do you have it?" Cindy asked. She had Alec cornered near the lockers, voice low, leaning in. To anyone who didn't know Cindy, she probably looked like she was flirting.  
  
Alec reached into his messenger bag and drew out a package wrapped in brown paper, the same as so many other packages that came through the shop. "Yeah. You're lucky I found it, too. This stuff is hard to find." He passed it over.  
  
Cindy opened one flap of the package to peek in, and she smiled. "It's beautiful. It's perfect." Alec probably thought she was just being the middle woman for another trade, but this was for Cindy's special girl, an anniversary gift.  
  
Not only had Alec found lace, whoever he'd bought it from had stitched it to the collar and sleeves of the dress. It was the perfect color and just the right pattern - not too ornate but not too simple - and Asha would love it.  
  
Alec shrugged and smiled winsomely. "You know me. I always deliver the goods."  
  
Of all the things that were hard to find after the pulse, Cindy hadn't expected something as simple as lace to become the precious commodity that it was. Where mining was impossible without heavy machinery, what precious gems and metals were available were intensely rare as it was. For the simpler, more common folk, things like ribbon and lace were the treasure to be had.  
  
Lace, like ribbon, was made on machines, and it was hard to find. No one had thought to forage for it in the aftermath of the Pulse - it was a luxury item - and now there was a stranglehold on the stuff. A few enterprising souls had gone and foraged through the rubble of craft and fabric stores destroyed in the post-Pulse riots, and wearing lace was like wearing gold.  
  
How Alec had found it, Cindy didn't know, and she wouldn't ask. She paid a pretty penny for the stuff, and Alec kept it coming.  
  
"Get it?" Alec waggled his eyebrows. "Deliver."  
  
Cindy rolled her eyes. "You're not that cute, Smarty." It was her nickname for him, after she'd learned that Max had given him that name because the first time they met he was a smart-aleck. It was some kind of sign of trust, that Alec never let anyone else call him that.  
  
Alec straightened up, glanced over his shoulder, and then smiled at her, genuine and sincere. "Have fun with Asha. Happy Anniversary." And he ducked out of the Jam Pony building, off to do who knew what with Max and the rest of the strange friends they shared.  
  
Later that evening, after the festivities and the more private celebration, Asha said, "How did you even get this?"  
  
Cindy smiled against the curve of Asha's shoulder. "Lady don't kiss and tell."  
  
"Do you realize how rare this is? It's handmade lace. My great-grandmother used to make something like it - a different technique. But my mother taught me how to identify it. This is shuttle lace. You see? It fits perfectly around the collar and sleeves, continuous circles. No cut from were it came off a spool." Asha had the dress spread out across her lap while Cindy read.  
  
And suddenly Cindy had a sneaking suspicion. "When you say a shuttle, what do you mean?"  
  
Asha sketched a shape in the air. "Like - small, skinny, kinda oval but pointed at both ends, more pointed on one end than the other, with string wrapped around it."  
  
Cindy had seen just such a device in Alec's hands. She'd assumed it was just a spool for tying off packages. He kept it in his pocket.  
  
And Cindy knew exactly where Alec was getting his lace from. She wondered if it was something he'd learned at Manticore, or something he'd picked up for himself.  
  
She'd never tell his secret, though. Better to let him keep the lace coming.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec, his real feelings on learning to play the piano."

Alec was sprawled on the sofa at his bachelor pad, listening to an audiobook being read over the radio and starting in on a new lace project when there was a knock at the door. He set the shuttle aside with one hand and reached for his gun with the other, then went to answer the door.   
  
He reached out with his feline senses - humanoid heat, on the other side. Mostly humanoid scent. Could be a really dirty human or another Transgenic.  
  
He opened the door a mere fraction. “Hello?”  
  
The figure standing on the doorstep was tall, slender through the shoulders and hips, and wearing a hoodie obscuring any face. “Looking for Alec.”  
  
The caller was male, then. “Who’s asking?”  
  
“They call me John.”  
  
Alec heard the distinct inhale of John sniffing him. Transgenic, then.  
  
“My designation was -”  
  
“C’mon in, John. Good of you to stop by, buddy.” Alec smiled brightly, like this stranger was one of his oldest friends, and opened the door wider.  
  
John slipped inside. As soon as he was inside, he tugged down his hood, the motion like a sigh of relief. And - damn. He was definitely Transgenic. Probably a Nomly to boot, judging by his blue skin and golden eyes with vertical slit pupils, the smattering of scales down the side of his throat. Had John been perfectly human, he’d probably have been handsome.  
  
He was handsome, in his own Transgenic way.  
  
Alec really, really had to get to the bottom of how people knew about him.   
  
“Thanks. People were starting to look at me.” John’s tone was dry; people probably always looked at him funny, even with his hood up.  
  
“I know the feeling,” Alec said.  
  
John snorted. “People have probably never looked at you funny a day in your life.”  
  
“You’d be surprised.” Alec tucked his gun into the back of his jeans; John noticed the motion but didn’t comment. “What can I do for you, John?”  
  
“Obviously I can’t stay here,” John said. “Can’t stay anywhere, really. But they say you’ll help a brother out, give him a place to crash before he moves on. I just need a couple of nights, tops. Gotta see a doctor about a - disguise, if not a cure.”  
  
Alec had never heard of any such doctor, and neither had Max, but he was intrigued. “Sure. Mi casa es su casa. What do you need - food? Clothes? Milk?” He made damn good money selling his lace on the black market. Delivering for Jam Pony was yet another cover.  
  
“Milk would be great.”  
  
So John was savvy enough to know how to get a legit source of Tryptophan.  
  
“Take a load off,” Alec said, gesturing at the couch. “I’ve got - stuff, if you want entertainment.”  
  
John kept his hands jammed into his pockets, but Alec had seen his claws. He drifted over to the piano. “You play?”  
  
“Learned, for a mission.”  
  
“Do you like playing?”  
  
“About as much as I liked killing people.”  
  
John arched an eyebrow. Something about the expression was utterly human.  
  
Alec said, “Friend had it in his basement. When he found out I could play it, he figured I’d want it. Now it’s entertainment. Don’t much go in for TV around here.”  
  
“You mind if other people play?” John asked.  
  
“Nope. Knock yourself out.”  
  
“Oh, no, I don’t play piano. I was just curious.”  
  
Alec rooted around in the fridge, found the milk, poured John a glass even though he himself preferred drinking straight out of the jug. “You learn a musical instrument for a mission?”  
  
“I was never sent out on missions,” John said. “But I learned an instrument. Guitar.”  
  
Alec’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been trying to learn. A guy stopped by one night, gave me a crash course, but it’s been slow going. No one else seems to know how. Seems like people have forgotten how to do a lot of things.”  
  
“Well,” John said after draining the glass of milk. “If you have some nail clippers, I can show you a thing or two. You ever listen to any Johnny Cash?”  
  
“Never heard of him.”  
  
“Well, come closer, Padawan, and I’ll teach you your cultural heritage.” John smiled, and not for the first time, Alec hoped he would stay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec, making a house a home."

“You don’t live here full time, do you?”  
  
Alec was startled out of his bike repairs. His newest wayward Transgenic was a man from Psy Ops, slender and young and pretty like every other Transgenic, with curly dark hair, blue eyes, and a thin-lipped mouth. Apart from the usual modifications to make him tougher than most humans, his gift was emotional manipulation, and he seemed most adept at making people afraid - or angry.  
  
He was a walking riot, and not in the funny way.  
  
Also, his IQ was off the charts.  
  
“What makes you say that?”   
  
“Apart from furniture, a refrigerator, a meagre entertainment system, and musical instruments that you neither like nor are adept at, you have nothing,” the man - Sherlock - said.  
  
Alec poured grease onto the bicycle chain, gave the back tire a few spins to get the oil evenly distributed across all of the links. “What makes you think I’m not adept at the musical instruments?”  
  
“You have a chord cheat sheet folded beneath the strings and tucked up against the first fret of the guitar, so you’re not adept at it. As for the piano - the bench isn’t adjusted for someone your height, but the piano music on the stand is complex.” Sherlock was sipping tea that was mostly milk. He’d been programmed with a British accent, and he was hyper-alert, constantly checking his surroundings.  
  
“I don’t spend all my time here, no,” Alec said. He thought he’d done pretty well about making his stops at the house random - usually when things were so insane in the compound that he had to get out, take a break, cool down. How these stray Transgenics found him really was a mystery.  
  
Alec suspected a little birdie - or bat-boy - was telling them, though. He’d noticed, after John, that Sammy tended to show up for a chat at least two nights in advance of a new Transgenic drifting through town in search of a friend or loved one or safety. Only a few of the Transgenics who’d come to Alec privately had deigned to join Max’s cause.  
  
“You ought to make it more homey.” Sherlock finished his tea and refilled his teacup with just milk. “Should anyone come looking around here, it won’t be so obviously a crash-pad, or whatever it is the kids call it these days.”  
  
“What makes a house homey?” Alec asked, genuinely curious. He’d never had a home before, just a bunk in the barracks, or a cell when he’d been disobedient, or the dirt and the stars.  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “Art. Knick-knacks. Mementos of times past.”  
  
Alec raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock ducked his chin in rueful acknowledgment. They were former Manticore. Collecting knick-knacks wasn’t in their DNA, and their mementos of times past were nonexistent - and not anything they’d want visitors to see lying around anyway.  
  
“Throw rugs and souvenirs and -”  
  
“No one can afford those anymore. I need a pass to get from sector to sector just within this city.”  
  
“Art, at least,” Sherlock said finally.  
  
“I know an artist. I’ll have to see if he’ll give a friend a discount.” Alec smiled. “So, beside milk and criticizing my living arrangements, do you need anything else?”  
  
Sherlock leaned in. “What can you tell me about the doctor with the cure?”  
  
Alec leaned in as well. “I’ll trade you - help me make my house a home, and I’ll tell you what I know.” He didn’t know much, but he doubted that Sherlock, as bright and analytical as he was, knew any more about making a house a home than Alec did.  
  
It was a few weeks later, when a Transgenic named Evan drifted through (part-jaguar, with the dark velvety fur and retractable claws and fangs and tail to match) that the house started to look like a home. Evan had been trained as an artist for Psy Ops, able to draw anyone from memory and anyone described to him as well. He had the limited ability to reach into someone’s mind and pluck an image from memory, recreate it with a cheap ballpoint pen and a piece of paper.  
  
He left Alec a series of sketches in gratitude - the gang from Jam Pony, Max and Logan, and every single stray Alec had helped since Sammy. He’d drawn the Strays in neat rows, in school uniforms, like a class picture, younger than when Alec had met them, but perfectly _them_ all the same.  
  
Alec hung them up on the walls where people hung pictures of their own families and resolved to ask for little mementos from every other Stray who came his way. This was his house, but it wasn’t just his home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, any transgenic, Their animal DNA was useful, but it caused a few quirks in their behaviour."

Max was fending off a headache over the forms Logan had sent her, trying to coordinate supplies into the Freak Nation compound, when Cindy's squeal broke over the din.  
  
"I knew it!"  
  
"Hey, give that back!"  
  
And Alec, sounding genuinely irritated. While he had a tendency toward the dramatic, the pouty, the sarcastic, it actually took a lot to make him lose his cool. Any Transgenic not designed as a berserker unit or otherwise anomalous to their design naturally had a long fuse, because that made them more effective in combat and in interrogation settings.  
  
Max set down the paperwork, grateful for the distraction, and crossed the cement room she used as her office. "What's going on?"  
  
Cindy was holding what looked like a piece of beautiful lace. "Alec makes lace. I thought he was just a badass black market trader, but no, he makes the stuff by hand. I always suspected, but I caught him red-handed, with his little shuttle, tatting away like a grandma."  
  
Alec's hands twitched. "It's soothing, all right? Like knitting. Good for soldiers with PTSD or whatever."  
  
Cindy's glee faded when she remembered just who and what Alec was. "You could charge so much more for this," she said, sobering, smoothing a hand over the pattern.  
  
Max peered at it. It was ornate, intricate, finely-woven, a series of flowers and suns and shells and fans. "Where'd you learn?"  
  
"An old book," Alec said. He held out a hand. "Give me back my shuttle, please."  
  
Cindy held it out - and accidentally dropped it. Alec swore, plucked the shuttle out of midair with his Transgenic reflexes. And lost his grip on the ball of cotton thread he'd been using the make the lace.  
  
Max tracked with her gaze, the focus instinctive. And she pounced.  
  
Alec hissed and batted it out of her hands, and she hissed at him, and Cindy -   
  
Cindy busted up laughing. "No way! I knew you guys had feline DNA, but -"  
  
"What?" Alec blinked, like someone coming out of a daze.  
  
Max realized she was batting the ball of yarn back and forth between her hands, delighted, watching it unravel. She forced herself to stop, thrust the ball at Alec. He hastily re-wound the thread that had become unraveled, a blush high on his cheeks.  
  
"What I meant to say, before all this started," Cindy said, "was thank you, Alex. The gift was perfect. My girl likes it very much. Be sure I'll put in a good word for you, if anyone else needs lace."  
  
Alec nodded, didn't meet her gaze.  
  
Max, shaken and a little embarrassed, went back to her paperwork.  
  
She didn't know who to blame when she got home to Logan and he had a feather on the string that he wiggled enticingly across the desk when she sat down beside him. But she chased it anyway, and maybe purred a little when he stroked her hair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, any, astronomy."

Alec and Sammy sat on the edge of the roof, a couple of jugs of milk between them (Alec would have found some brews but it was bad for Sammy to drink and fly). Sammy was leaning back on his hands, head tipped back toward the sky.  
  
"Did you have to learn the names of the stars?" Sammy asked.  
  
Alec shook his head. "No. I mean, I wasn't required to learn the names, just to navigate by them. It was quicker and more efficient to refer to them by name than by astronomical designation. Why?"  
  
"Just curious. Do you know why they have the names they have?"  
  
"Old superstition." Alec shrugged one shoulder.  
  
Sammy smiled up at the full moon. "No, not superstition. Myths. Legends. Sagittarius, the centaur archer. Aquarius, the cupbearer of the gods. Capricorn, the sea goat."  
  
"Ever met anyone who was like a centaur?" Alec asked.  
  
"Nope. I think even that melding would be beyond Manticore's capabilities. Some things really are just myths," Sammy said.  
  
He was one to talk, with giant bat wings like a demon. Alec had met a man with scales, like a merman.  
  
"I always loved hearing the stories about them," Sammy continued. "My favorite was the story of the Gemini, Castor and Pollux."  
  
Alec frowned. "Gemini's a single constellation."  
  
"It means The Twins, who were named Castor and Pollux. They had one mother but different fathers. One was mortal, one was half-god. When the mortal died, the demigod pleaded with his divine father to share his immortality with his brother, and now they're together in the stars." Sammy's voice was dreamy, slow and soft.  
  
Alec had had many brothers, none of whom he'd known well enough to share immortality with. He barely remembered the brother Max called Ben. "That's a nice story. Why is it your favorite? Did you have a brother at Manticore?"  
  
Sammy shook his head. "No. One of my guards did, though. He'd tell me stories about his older brother, who was brave and strong and funny."  
  
"The guards talked to you?"  
  
"Just the one."  
  
"You looking for a big brother figure, then?" Alec eyed Sammy sidelong.  
  
Sammy smiled and sat up, flexed his wings like he did when he was ready to fly away. "Already have one." He stood up, stretched. "Thanks for the milk, Alec."  
  
Damn kid was getting taller than Alec. "You're always welcome, Sammy. Say, what is it you're looking for out there?" Sammy had confirmed, a few visits back, that he was the one sending strays Alec's way.  
  
"Family."  
  
"We have none, besides each other."  
  
"Wrong. We all come from somewhere. I'm hoping they have answers." Sammy reached into his pocket and fished out something small and flat and rectangular - a piece of paper? - and pressed it into Alec's hand. "See you round, Alec McDowell."  
  
"And you, Sammy Wayne." Alec had had to name him after Batman. It would have been criminal not too.  
  
With one mighty flap, Sammy was airborne, and then he was flapping away into the night sky. Alec watched till he was out of sight, then turned and headed back into the stairwell. He paused beneath one of the lamps at the top of the stairwell to look at the card Sammy had given him.  
  
An address to another Stray safehouse, perhaps?  
  
No, a photograph. Of Sammy, the same age he was now, only without wings, perched on the hood of a sleek black car.  
  
And Alec, or someone who looked like Alec would in four years, perched beside him, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, an arm slung around Sammy's shoulders.   
  
Alec had never seen a car like that in person, and he'd certainly never had his picture taken with Sammy. He flipped the photo over and saw initials - SW + DW.  
  
Was Sammy Wayne his real name?   
  
Alec stared at the photo some more. Then he hurried down the stairs, hollering for Logan. He needed something run through facial rec.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Dark Angel, Alec, this aspect of daily life is something he never had to even consider before the end of Manticore."

Alec had never quite been prepared for casual. He knew how to fake it, how to make small talk, how to read body language and respond appropriately. But nothing at Manticore was ever _casual_. It was all about evaluation and assessment. Everything was a test. Every interaction, from handshakes to conversations to brief eye contact across a room as he passed one of the staff or other transgenics in the corridors was being recorded and considered.   
  
Was he emotionally stable? Was he following orders? Were any of the defects that had manifested in other transgenics manifesting in him?  
  
In the real world, the majority of interactions in a given day were casual. Nodding and smiling at someone he passed on the street. The smile as he handed over the delivery receipt. The comments about the weather and how bikes were working while he stood in line at Jam Pony, waiting for Normal to hand out the assignments and packages.  
  
For the longest time, Alec had searched the faces around him for signs, for meanings, for warnings. What did they want? What were they looking for? What was the best way to respond?  
  
He never quite believed that people wanted nothing from him. He was Manticore. He was transgenic. His very DNA was a commodity. Someone always wanted something from him.  
  
Until they didn't. Half the time, when people said _how are you?_ they weren't even looking for a response. Not everyone who smiled at him expected a smile in return, and when he smiled first, he learned not to expect a response either.  
  
Casual was hard. Not having commanding officers giving orders was hard. Not having goals and expectations was hard. Alec could expect physical fitness of himself, excellence - but to be excellent at what?   
  
At Manticore, he'd shared in the chores like the rest of the kids - cooking, cleaning. He learned how to budget, in the event he had to go on extended away missions. He could mend his own clothes and press a shirt perfectly, police shoes. He was good at scrubbing and mopping and dusting and sweeping. He never mixed the colors with the whites in the laundry and got pink shirts. He could make a bed with hospital corners.  
  
He was pretty sure he'd be able to live on his own.  
  
Being on his own wasn't the problem so much as being on his own surrounded by people.  
  
But when Cindy said, "Hey, Alec," he lifted a hand and nodded and smiled and reminded himself that even though she knew who he was, she wasn't after anything from him. Not after anything he couldn't give, at any rate. Like simple friendship, once he figured that out.


End file.
